October 22, 2016

Kate and Kate arrived at their beach house during cocktail hour last night. I made meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and French green beans for dinner. Kim had asked me on Thursday to record the new "Rocky Horror Picture Show" for them, and we turned it on after dinner. I'm not sure how long it was after "The Time Warp" song that I fell asleep, but I was awakened when Kate tossed a glass of red wine on me. Neither Oxi-Clean nor Totally Awesome remove red wine stains. Bleach does. I love bleach.

​I am here for an indeterminate period of time. Kim and Kate are leaving Tuesday for a week, and friends from Philadelphia are coming to spend the weekend with me. The following weekend is the World Champion Punkin Chunkin in Bridgeville, DE. No, I'm not kidding. It wasn't held in for the last two years because of an insurance issue. Kim and Kate have invited me to the Punkin Chunkin for years, but I have never been able to attend it. This year, I'm all in. This morning they suggested we take BOB, but at $260 for the weekend and untold potential damage to him, we'll take BAT - their Big Ass Truck. Yes, everything has to have a name.

We went to a brewery in Rehoboth Beach for lunch today because Kim read that they serve barbecued oysters. I don't eat bivalves, and I could live without ever having another beer. I like beer, but I love wine. I could also give up bourbon which is my spirit of choice, if I had to give up something I really like after I gave up beer. Giving up okra doesn't count, because no one likes okra. The brewery didn't have barbecued oysters. I had a grilled cheese with pesto and tomato (so, not a real grilled cheese) and two glasses of Carmenere.

This summer I applied online to be the CFO of a brewery based here in Delaware. I mentioned that beer is OK, but that I'm really a wino. I didn't get the job. CEO's don't understand that they need someone in the C-suite who doesn't drink the Kool-Aid or the beer. (Jim Jones wouldn't have hired me either, the fact that I was 13 notwithstanding.) I would never apply for a C-suite position at a winery because the product would present a conflict of interest to me – unless it is Gallo. I have my standards, low as they are.

This morning I applied for a job as a COO of a fledgling airline which flies (nowhere, yet) from Florida. I hate Florida: it smells like mold and every town is called DelBocaVista-something. It's flat, full of amusement parks, populated by transplants from other states, and has serious weather issues. That makes it the not-hot older sister of California which shares those downsides in addition to horrible traffic, unaffordable real estate, and no natural water supply (i.e. SoCal). But, California also has Shasta, Tahoe, Napa, Sonoma, San Francisco, the coast from Monterey to Oxnard, Yosemite, King's Canyon, Sequoia, Mammoth, Death Valley, Joshua Tree, Anzo-Borrego, and the Chocolate Mountains. I should work for Patagonia or the National Park Service in California as a matter of geography, but Yvon Chouinard (the founder of Patagonia) never answers my letters and the NPS uniform includes high-waisted pants which are completely unacceptable to me.